Private

“God, I do love that body,” she said. “I do. God save me.”

This wasn’t what I had expected when I rang her doorbell, but there I was, naked on flowered sheets, watching Colleen tug the clips out of her hair. That curtain of fragrant black silk fell around her shoulders, covering, then revealing her breasts.

She bent over me, hair tickling my face, and she kissed me deeply and for a long time. It was glorious. She slid into the bed and wriggled against me, her cool skin sliding across mine, pulling away, then pressing against me.

I had my hands around her narrow hips-felt a prick of high heels at the small of my back-and then I was inside her.

My mind emptied, thoughts of sleep having burned away completely. Love poured in and filled my heart, love and gratitude and ecstasy and then, after maybe ten minutes of this, release-for both of us. I moved off Colleen’s body and sank into the bed.

The sweat began to dry on my skin, and unbelievably, Colleen began to cry.

I felt a flash of regret. I couldn’t take any more this day, not another thing, but the feeling dissolved, replaced by shame and then compassion for Colleen.

I gathered her into my arms and held her as she sobbed quietly against my chest. “Colleen, what is it?”

She shook her head no.

“Sweetie, tell me what it is. I want to hear it. I’m right here.”

Colleen struggled out of my arms. Shoes flew, banged into the corner. The bathroom door opened, and I heard water running. Minutes later, Colleen came out in a long sleep shirt and got into the bed.

“I’ve made a right fool of meself,” she said.

“Talk to me. Please.”

She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. I put my hand across her belly.

“It’s hard, Jack. This-leaves me so sad sometimes. I see you at midnight some random nights. I work with you at the office. And in between?”

“I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t say that things would change. We were smack up against the wall, and I had to tell the truth.

“This is all I’ve got, Colleen. I can’t move in. I can’t marry you. This has to stop.”

“You don’t love me, do you, Jack?”

I sighed. Colleen hugged me as I stroked her hair. “I do. But not the way you need.”

I felt as heartsick as she felt, and then I had to disengage from her embrace.

“Stay, Jack. I’m okay now. It’s Sunday morning. A bright new day.”

“I’ve got to go home and get some sleep. I’m working today… This NFL thing is about to blow. My uncle is depending on me. I gave him my promise.”

“I see.”

I gathered my clothes from the floor and dressed in the dark. Colleen was staring at the ceiling when I kissed her good-bye.

“You’re not a bad person, Jack. You’ve always been honest with me. You’re always straight. Have a good day for yourself, now.”

Chapter 97

COLLEEN WAS STILL on my mind when Del Rio and I met Fred in the stadium parking lot at noon.

Horns blared without mercy. Motorcycles sputtered and roared as they came through the gates. Cars and trucks streamed across asphalt. Fans of all ages wearing Raiders T-shirts-some with their faces painted silver and black, a select few in Darth Raider costumes-were having tailgate parties, cooking burgers and steaks and getting bombed.

The home team was going to play, and the fans always dared to hope that by some miracle their glory days would return, that the Raiders would triumph-and if they didn’t, it was still a good day for a party.

I looked across to the owners’ lot, saw Fred lock his car and start toward the entrance. He was wearing his favorite warm-up jacket, Dockers, and orthopedic shoes. His thinning hair was neatly combed. I thought that he looked older than he had a week ago, like he’d suffered a great loss, which I guess he had.

I called Fred’s name, and he looked up, changed course.

He shook hands with Del Rio, clapped my shoulder, and led us through the crowd toward a side door beyond the lines.

“Thanks for coming, Jack, Rick. I appreciate it.”

He flashed his ID at one of the security guards, said, “They’re with me,” and a door opened into a tunnel fit for a remake of the Mean Joe Greene commercial.

For one bright green instant, I saw the field, the stands filling on all sides, and then we took a sharp left and headed down beneath the stadium.

Doors opened and closed along the underground hallway. Stadium personnel called out to Fred, and he acknowledged them with a wave and a smile-but my stomach clenched thinking about what was going to happen in the next few minutes.

“Let’s get it over with,” Fred said. “This is going to be tough, really bad, Jack.”

He put his key into a lock and stood back to let me and Del Rio pass in front of him into his office.

I was surprised to see Evan Newman and David Dix sitting around Fred’s desk. Two men I didn’t recognize sat on a sofa at the rear of the room. They were wearing black-and-white stripes. Their expressions were grim.

Fred introduced the men as Skip Stefero and Marty Matlaga, then said, “Jack, you got the pictures? You and Rick, come with me. Everyone else, we’ll be back in a couple of minutes. If we’re not, bust in.”